


crawl inside this second skin

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Series, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Video Cameras, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: pre-series:The stolen camera was meant to be a hobby, something to keep Seth occupied, but creation is always revealing, it was only fitting that Richie becomes Seth's subject.





	crawl inside this second skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> Title take from Richard Siken's poem _you are jeff._ Many thanks to my lovely beta who did a quick and dirty read over for this. All remaining mistakes are my own.

It’s not the best angle and the lighting is shit—too low, too many shadows and not enough contrast, and you want to punch him in the arm, ask him, _don’t you know better? haven’t you picked up a damn thing from any of the greats?_ But you can’t make your tongue work when you see yourself come into focus on the television screen, a little grainy, cheap handheld footage of yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, staring through the camera at Seth behind the lens.

  


 

 

 

Seth picks up the old polaroid camera at a secondhand shop for two bucks, dusty and half broken, an outdated technology already, almost obsolete, but you watch him tinker with it for weeks, taking it apart and putting it back together, searching for the missing piece that will bring it back to life. It’s different than him cleaning a gun, less methodical and more exploratory, like Seth’s hands on your skin the first time you let Seth touch you with intent. It keeps him occupied, keeps him focused in the way school couldn’t, homework piling up as he lifts another part from a pawn shop, one step closer to getting it up and running again.  

The flash blurs your vision the first time Seth takes a picture of you, mid-sentence, walking towards him at the table—Seth pulling up the camera and pressing down, a square image of you with your hands raised and eyes squinting fluttering to the floor. “It works now,” Seth announces, smug and happy, snatching up the picture before you can steal it and destroy it.

(you thought it was the challenge—why Seth was drawn to it, why Seth picked it up at all, something to make work with his hands and his wits and prove himself—but the camera hangs around his neck as Seth takes dozens of pictures, burning through film quicker than he can lift more and all the photos of your face, all of your body, snatches of bare skin Seth steals when you’re not looking, when you’re asleep, when you’re too fucked out to care—

Seth straddling you after he’d been inside you, still leaking out of you, naked with only the camera in his hands, capturing your face post-orgasm, flushed and red, your eyes black and heavy-lidded, staring up at Seth bare-faced and raw

 _I love this photo_ , Seth tells you later, still admiring it laying across your chest, still staring at his handiwork; _I wanna hang it up on the wall_ , _you’re a work of art, brother)_

  


 

 

 

(you hadn’t wanted to, but Seth always had a way of making you want it anyway, using his hands and his mouth, easy words breathed into your ear as Seth touches you, pleads with you, fucking unravels you, slow and careful, your brother’s hands knowing all your pressure points, digging into the right spots that make you bend and arch and whimper out, _yes, okay, we can do it, if you want, anything you want_ ;

he promised you wouldn’t notice, but it felt like eyes on you, watching you from the corner of the room, watching as Seth took you apart with his fingers sliding inside you and his palm wrapped around your cock, watching as you let Seth get you on your hands and knees, as you let your brother fuck you—your bodies angled so the camera can capture everything, bent across the width of the bed, Seth’s mouth working across the back of your neck, his fingertips digging into your hips as he rocks inside you, groaning,

 _gonna look so good like this, gonna look so fucking hot, I can’t wait to watch it again, can’t want to see what you look like when I’m inside you, brother, can’t wait to watch us_ )

  


 

 

 

The camcorder comes after Seth gets bored with stills, filling a medium sized box of his homemade pornography, snapshots of your body in various states of undress—your cock limp, your cock hard, your cock softening after coming, angled portraits of your nipples and collarbone, a shot of your ass and thighs; Seth interspersed throughout in bits and pieces as you got your hands on the camera, tired of always being the subject, turning the lens on Seth and his hipbones, Seth and his sly grin, cheeks darkened with heat, Seth’s arched back. It works from the moment Seth gets it home after bartering for it in a pawn shop until the owner folded just to get Seth out of his store. VHS tapes are harder to steal than film, but Seth manages, stuffing them into his pants, holding tight with his underwear, making you play look out.

You should have known it would have turned on you, Seth and his neverending fascination with making you flush and shudder, always watching—now recording, setting you to film and motion, capturing you in time, to play back over and over, rewinding you back to a single moment Seth wanted to touch forever.

(it was innocent, at first—the way things always start, simple and carefree, Seth asking you goofy question he already knows the answer to, getting you to smile, needling laughter from your throat, little breaks he likes to work apart until you’re in pieces; it escalates, trying to get you there, Seth always pushing, toeing that boundary until he steps right over—

it’s how you got here, Seth’s inability to stop and your weakness for your brother, unable to say _no,_ unable to deny Seth anything)

  


 

 

 

The camera picked up the red on your cheeks, the flush that burned its way down your chest, the blush you feel now, Seth’s thigh pressed to yours on the couch as his little home movie rolls on across your living room television screen.

( _Eddie’s not home_ , Seth whispered in your ear, after pulling the tape from out from under your bed and putting it in your hand, wanting you to do it, wanting you to stick it in the VCR as he watched, eyes on your back; _he’s not gonna be home for hours_ , he promises, sure, though it makes your stomach twist and clench, worry fluttering up through your nerves and making your lungs seize—

you still do it, push the tape in, let Seth pull you on the couch beside him)

“State your name for the camera, baby,” Seth asks you, off-screen, hidden, but his voice is still loud, booming so close to the camera.

You watch your eyes roll, the way you tap your fingers on your jiggling thigh, how you hunch your shoulders like that will make you less bare, less shirtless. “Seth,” you say, fixing the camera with a stare.

“That’s a new kind of roleplay we haven’t tried, but I could be into it—you playing me, me playing you, could be hot.” You remember the way he grinned, sharp and broad, and watch the way it made you shudder, biting a half-smile into your cheek as your head ducks.

“That’s not what I meant,” you say, looking up again. “This is stupid. You know my name.”

“But the audience doesn’t.”

You watch yourself swallow, remember how it felt, feeling it now, the heavy drop in the pit of your stomach, the desire to rip the tape out and burn it aching in your chest.

“That’s not funny, Seth.”

The camera shifts, zooming in on your face, holding for a moment as your face fills up the television screen, eyes blue and magnified.

“I didn’t mean it, brother. I wouldn’t let anyone watch this but us. No one gets to see this, I promise.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes it’s not a rush to see who can make the other come the fastest, blood hot with competition and heads heady with nearness, with the allowance—with you giving in all new ways, letting Seth try and push himself further under your skin, sweat and come sticking you both together, pressing close to see how much it’d take to fuse with your mouths together and hands on each other’s cocks. You whimper and moan, feel it reverberating down Seth’s throat when he swallows, feeling yourself seat deep in Seth’s gut.

(Seth always wants more, but he’ll take whatever you’re willing to give him, taking every inch of what you give and a little more—whispering in your ear from the start, begging with sharp gasps, _you should fuck me, come on brother, I want you to be the first, it should be yours, I should be yours_ ; you learn to quiet him with your tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth, thrusting it in and sliding it out, palm twisting around the head of Seth’s cock in a way that makes him spurt, whining and biting your tongue)

Sometimes it’s slow, just like you love it, making Seth lay back, pinning him with your eyes, trying to demand, trying to make Seth want to listen, want to comply, spread himself out across the sheets and let you have whatever you wants to take—easy enough, Seth ready to give it up at the first touch, arching into you as his body begs when his words get all choked up.

It’s your hands on him, palms and stretched out fingers mapping out his expanse of skin from his throat to his hips, the pads of your fingers rubbing and pinching Seth’s nipples--watching him as Seth rolls up with his heavy, intense gaze, raking over you until you feel hot under his gaze, burning up when you move your hands lower, your palm cupping around his sack and giving him a gentle squeeze, feeling the heavy weight of him. You mouth at his ribs, working your lips and tongue and teeth all the way down to his hips, laying your head on one of Seth’s splayed thighs as you stare at his cock, touching him with one finger running up the underside, adding another, feeling around the base, rubbing circles in the space between his cock and sack, thumb smearing the fluid that keeps bubbling up down his length, tracing the path of a vein.

Seth reaches for the camcorder then, the first time when you’re both like this, left with intent on the bedside table, your head lifting as he twists and settles, turns the camcorder to record.

“Go on, brother, I wanna jerk off later to the sight of you sucking me off, want to fucking hear it in goddamn stereo.”

You almost don’t do it, almost push off the bed and tell Seth to _fuck off,_ but your mouth waters, the scene of Seth so close, cock warm and soft under your hand. You lick the tip of his cock with your eyes cast upwards, watching Seth watch you, camcorder catching everything, putting down for the record how you can fit your brother’s cock all the way down your throat, catching how it makes you moan to feel him go deep, how it makes your eyes roll back in your head.

  


 

 

 

(you let Seth interview you after he promised, let him treat you like a new star, making your debut, answering his questions as they got more lurid, more specific, giving him answers he already knew, but got him off to hear you say it for the record, have you say it out loud, stuttering and gasping.

 _those pants look tight, why don’t you take them off, sweetheart_ , Seth suggested, asking you to strip for him, asking you to strip for the camera and you did it, with your hands shaking, zipper of your jeans catching before lowering, sliding off your hips; you hooked your fingers in your underwear, feeling bold or wanting to make this go faster—you’re still not sure, not sure what made you pull them off with your jeans and stand in front of the camera without clothes, remembering liking the sound that came out of Seth when your pants hit your ankles, a soft choking moan that pulled at your guts, made your cock ache;

 _wow, you’re a big boy, aren’t you, Richie? look how hard you are for the camera_ , Seth never silent for long, and you remember how his voice made you want to cover yourself, how your skin tightened and your cock leaked, stomach turning over and pulled in, heart racing, pumping up into your throat.

 _why don’t you touch yourself, baby?_ )

  


 

 

 

You’ve never seen yourself with your hand wrapped around your cock, not even in a mirror, always jerked off in the shower or under the covers, in the dark, your eyes squeezed shut; your thighs splay open as you lean back on the bed, scooting up as Seth follows you with the camera, as Seth presses closer to your side, his hands falling on your thigh, fingers finding the seam of your pants and following it up.

“You’re getting off on this,” Seth says in your ear, breath hot, humid as he pants. “Aren’t you? God, can you believe how fucking hot you are? So hot, Richie, look at yourself.” Seth’s hand lands on your cock, squeezing and rubbing you through your pants, your briefs, and you come back to your body and realize how hard you are, how damp your underwear is, sticky as the motion of Seth’s hand makes your underwear rub and stretch over the head of your cock as you watch yourself jerk it with surround sound, catching your moans and gasps, watching the way your hips jerk and fuck your fist.

“You make me so hard, Richie,” Seth whimpers against the side of your neck, his face falling there, slick with sweat as he grabs your wrist, dragging your hand between his legs, feeling like the first time, making you feel him, making your hand fit around him and see how well he fits, how good the weight of his cock feels in your palm. “I just want you to see how hot you make me.”

Seth’s cock is slick when he curls your fingers around him, presses your palm to the soft skin of his shaft, already out of his jeans, underwear waistband under his balls, pants barely shoved down—just enough to get your hand on him, his hips jerking at the contact.

“You’re so good with your hands, Richie,” Seth groans against your neck, burying his face there, his teeth biting down on your collarbone when your squeeze him, letting Seth twist your hand around him.

  


 

 

 

Seth never got the money shot, for all his adherence to tropes up until you felt yourself edging close, Seth’s impulsivity wins out in the end. You see the result as the camera lowers, being set up on a tripod as Seth comes into the frame as the Seth at your side thrusts into your hand, rolling close, half in your lap, close to humping your thigh, concentration gone as the Seth on screen puts his back to the camera as he falls to his knees in front of your splayed thighs, dark head obscuring your cock as it lowers, your hand sliding through Seth’s hair—you remember forgetting the camera then, the moment Seth’s mouth slid hot and wet down your cock, sucking hard. You don’t want to forget the video now, want to see what happens as you come, crying out as Seth spills over your fingers, timed to the recording like he knew it would happen and wanted to crest at the same time. You look sweaty and spent, stroking Seth’s hair as you stare down at him with a soft gaze, your whole world whittled down to your brother on his knees for you.

“Richie,” Seth says at your side, nuzzling at your throat. “Watch what happens next.”

  


 

 

 

You remember what happens, burned in your head, your memory as you watch it unfold, cock throbbing, aching—near painful like when Seth filmed this, the you on the screen panting as Seth pushes you back on the bed, working his pants down as his hand still strokes your cock, making you shudder and jerk, twist at the intensity of contact so soon after orgasm. You feel Seth’s hands sliding into your lap again, this time heading toward the button on your jeans, your zipper, working both open as he shimmies out of his own pants kicking them off with his underwear onto the floor.

You don’t bother to ask him what he’s doing, knowing already even before his thigh slides over yours, knees sinking into the couch cushions around your hips.

( _it’s about symmetry_ , you remember him telling you one night, passing a joint between your fingers, laying on the roof, _all the best movies have symmetry, Richard—the story’s gotta come full circle_ —

you think about that as Seth angles your cock and slides onto you, rocking his hips until you sit deep inside him, Seth warm and wet around you— _fuck fuck_ , you groan, wrapping your arms around him, pulling his chest to yours, mouth falling against his shoulder— _this whole time you were ready for me_ —and watch Seth on screen as he splays your legs wide, pushing his jeans down just enough to get his cock bare, to get it inside of you as you watch yourself over Seth’s shoulder rolling up to meet Seth’s thrust, pulling him down with your arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to meet yours as he fucks into you, kissing him as he takes his pleasure from your body, takes you for the camera;

 _richierichierichie_ , you hear in your ear, echoed over the speakers, Seth pressing his softening cock to your stomach as he lifts his hips to ride you)

  


 

 

 

“It’s okay, I want you to,” Seth says, rolling back down onto your cock, grabbing your arms as his rhythm stutters, pushing your hands down to his hips, making you grab him, grip him, wanting you to set the pace, lift Seth and pull him back down on your cock, fuck up into him until you blow your load, using your brother to get off as you watch him do the same to you—Seth on screen gripping your thighs to push them higher, raising your ass to thrust in deeper.

( _please, please, please_ , you hear yourself beg, punctuated with your brother’s skin slapping against yours as he fucked into you, groaning into your skin how _sweet_ your ass was, how _tight_ you were)

You mouth at Seth’s throat, teething as his skin, leaving a matching mark he surely left on you, your palms sliding to cup his ass, lifting as you squeeze, loving the yelp Seth makes, loving the way you get to see how you fit together one screen, bodies curled towards each other, rushing against one another, trying to merge into one. “Want me to come inside you, baby?” you ask, can’t help it, wanting to hear Seth say it even though you know what he wants, you know what he likes—to be left dripping and sore, stretched with the girth of you.

“Yes, _fuck_ yes, Richie,” Seth says, mouthing at your ear, hands sliding under your t-shirt as his nails dig into your shoulders. “Love feeling you explode inside me.”

You don’t see it when Seth comes, your vision whites out as Seth twists his hips, grinding down on top of you, as he chants, _come on, come on, come on, wanna fucking feel it, brother_ until you snap, crumpling under him, shooting up inside of Seth as he slides his mouth down your jaw, smothering your cries with his lips, making you choke on his tongue as you tremble and jerk, shaking out under Seth.

When you open your eyes, your bodies on screen are slumped together across the bed, a pile of limbs that rise and fall with merging breaths that you feel now, the tension in Seth’s body rolling out in waves, leaving him heavy and loose, face resting on your shoulder as he holds your cock inside of him, his heartbeat slowing to match yours, thumping against your chest.

You stay like that with him until the television screen turns to black and white ants, until you feel your release leak down your shaft, until you soften and slip from your brother.

  


 

 

 

“Fucking hide that,” you tell him after you untangle yourselves, cleaning up, trying to clean up the couch the best you can—no doubt Uncle Eddie knows what a come stain looks like, no need for him to start asking questions. “Or burn it. Just don’t get Eddie arrested for possession of child pornography.”

Seth smiles, easy and warm, tilts his head so you can see the dark purple mark you left on him, the mark he’ll put on display for days just to drive you crazy. “Relax, brother, no one is ever gonna know this exists. I got a spot.”

You swallow, can’t help the worry that bubbles up in your gut, turning it to rot. “You goddamn better have a spot.”

Seth rolls his eyes, but reaches up to lay his hand on your face, his palm warm and tacky as it cups your face, his fingers smelling like spunk and lube—he runs his thumb over your lips and you can’t help it, letting your tongue flick out and taste it, arousal flickering for a moment through you, like a power surge.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Seth says, pushing his thumb over the edge of your bottom lip. “I always got your back.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> While not exactly any of your prompts, I worked a little with your likes and your desire for pre-series fic, and added a little of my own inspiration. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoyed this little porn-without-plot-but-with-feelings slice of Seth/Richie!


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